The Mustang And The Slayer
by Reallybored2
Summary: A case of foot-and-mouth by Xander goads Buffy into another costume choice.
1. Chapter 1

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Disclaimer: Nope. Don't own anything here. Seriously. _Buffy The Vampire Slayer_ is the lovely, lovely creation of Joss Whedon and his group. Rumiko Takahashi and her gang own _Ranma 1/2_. Anything else you may recognize in this story is NOT MINE, and belongs to someone else. Got it?

It's _another_ Halloween fic? Oh, _maaaan_-What else can be said? Oh, yeah . . .This . . .

Originally, I was going to make this a Xander story. But after his run in with Larry, I don't believe Xander would have been too thrilled to wear a costume where the character turns into a _girl _with a splash of water.

But I did think someone else obsessing over her femininity (Hair, clothing, _shoes_) might look good as Ranma.

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A case of foot-in-mouth by Xander goads Buffy into another costume choice.

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The Mustang And The Slayer

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Ethan Rayne's Costume Shop, 1997:

Xander's open laugh sent two sets of piercing glares in his direction.

"Now what is _wrong_ with the dress, Xander?" Buffy icily demanded. Her grip on the eighteen-century dress a steel vise-Willow, bracketing the coveted dress, shot Xander an irritated look.

Xander coughed down another laugh. "_Nothing's_ wrong with the dress, Buffster-Although, I think you'll like to know that the gel junkie you're dressing up for hates the useless 'lady' types swishing around in dresses like that."

Willow's eyes widened in sudden memory. "Oh! Hey! He's right, Buffy . . .Angel once commented how he hated those dresses, and, and the women who dressed in them. He-he called them 'vapid', or something like that."

Xander smirked as Buffy suddenly released her grip, and dropped her hands to her side scowling. "Yeah . . .apparently he likes fighters-And he likes them young." He said the last part softly, but Buffy heard him and gave him another glare. Xander noticed and chuckled. "Now, I personally think Spandex is the way to go. All superheroes wear Spandex. Super girls in Spandex? _Buff_ super girls in Spandex? Curvy, top heavy, round and soft in the right places . . .?" Xander developed a far away look in his eyes, and disconcertingly enough began drooling.

Exasperated, Willow knew just what to do when her oldest, and bestest, friend got that way. She darted forward and smacked Xander upside his head. He came to with a start, looked confused for a bare moment, then grinned mischievously and wiped the drool off with the back of his hand. "So, Buffy . . .Want to start with something blue?"

Buffy's eyes narrowed, a harsh, odd light glinting in them, and she nearly snarled. "_No_ Spandex, Xander!"

Xander grinned again and shrugged. "Okay, but your loss. Anyway, there got to be something here that's gonna do the job." Ugh! Xander's good thoughts were suddenly smashed into none existence by the idea of 'turning on' a two hundred plus year old, cannibalistic, pedophilic, animated corpse! Icy cold gripped his body, and Xander shuddered in earnest, trying to shake off those awful thoughts.

Not that the girls were in a position to notice Xander's antics-They had turned away and were busy rummaging through the racks again.

"Silk!" Buffy cried out in delight. She pulled out of the racks, a red Chinese shirt and black pants. In a couple of attached, separate plastic bags sat a red pigtail wig, a pair of leather bracers, and soft black slippers. Buffy sized the costume up against her body, and came up with a good enough rough fit.

Xander stared at the costume, and felt like giggling. His previous disturbing thoughts replaced by the tickling amused glow of recognition.

"Yeah, Buffy . . .?" She looked up. "Yeah, um, I really don't think that's a good look for you. That's Ranma. And, um, heh, heh, she was stacked!" Xander motion with both hands at his chest, pantomiming a large bosom. "At minimum, Ranma was a D cup. And, lets face facts, all kidding aside here, you'll have to do a lot of padding to pull that costume off."

The stony looks from both girls should have warned Xander to shut up and run with his tail between his legs-Thus protecting those, oh, so, vital manly body parts. But Xander was a sixteen-year-old teenage boy, afflicted with a foot-in-mouth condition, very similar to another male pigtailed teenager . . .Of course, that explained why he had to go and dig himself in even deeper. "Okay, Ranma is smart, funny, an ass kicking martial artist; beat up a dragon prince and killed a god. But maybe you ought to find something a little less ambitious?"

Ethan Rayne, a shadow in the back of the racks behind the trio, about to step forward and push for the dress, winced, and took a silent, unnoticed step backwards instead.

"Ah, you know, Buff? Maybe you ought to find something a little better proportioned to your frame?" Xander said helpfully. Ignoring blatant hints of danger. The rush of freezing air raising Goosebumps on his arms, Xander attributed to the airconditioner.

A bubble of cold silence inexplicable grew around the three friends, in spite of the loud, mad rush around them. Unexpected, internal, screaming alarms hit Xander under the unblinking stares of his female friends. Puzzled, he noticed their actual expressions for the first time and quickly reviewed the last few minutes. _Uh-oh_ . . .A sudden jolting splash of cold knowledge caused his internal, and external, self to contract and freeze in blind panic.

"Ah, on second thought . . .never mind me. Keeping silent here. Shutting up now." Xander mimed zipping up his mouth and throwing away the key. He quickly, franticly, dove into the racks on his own quest and escape.

Ethan Rayne, who safe in his discrete stalking, shuddered, slipped gracefully and silently away through the racks and narrow aisles, avoiding the notice of his enthusiastic victims, thankful for the fact that _he_ was not an obnoxious, sixteen year old little prat. Ethan mulled over recent events . . .Ethan Rayne's strongly developed sense of self-preservation had to bow in reluctant respect to the Human female's hidden weapon: Irrational-and _extremely_ violent-rage. Under no circumstance was he going to become an alternative target for _that_, Ethan vowed to himself. He considered going back and suggesting another _fun_ alternative, but, given the mood back there, Ethan decided to find someone in a calmer state to 'help'_._

A jolt of irritation flared up in him. Ripper's little slayer just had to be put aside as a project for another time, Ethan considered, annoyed. A small, but insistent thought rudely pushed itself to the forefront of his mind: Perhaps, having a Chaos magnet dressing up as another type of Chaos magnet might salvage, or (could he hope?) even help amplify his work? Ethan's eyes glittered with gleeful malice. Just maybe, Ethan considered, just maybe the girl's own costume choice could work out better then the original costume he had prepared for her. Hmmm . . .Feeling his good spirits once more returning to their original levels, Ethan decided to double dose the costume, once he got his hands on it at the check out.

Ethan's eyes and attention settled on another customer. Ethan actually smiled. And in a lighter mood, Ethan hurried away-Chaos after all had to be carefully nurtured.

Willow stared in the direction Xander disappeared to, and sighed. "You know Xander didn't really mean anything by that. Right?"

Buffy nodded and smoothed the costume over her arm. "Yeah, I know-But I'm still _so_ wearing this . . .Smart and funny? Killed a god? It me you know . . .especially the smart and funny part. Yep, I'm wearing it! What did Xander say it was . . .?"

"Ranma."

"Cool!" And Buffy face lit up with a brilliant smile.

****

Halloween Night:

"Hey! What's going on here! Where am I?" Ranma demanded loudly, confused. "_This ain't Nerima!_" Her head frantically darting back and forth, staring at the bizarre, dangerous events around her. The street, the houses all looked odd, foreign. And why were there little mini monsters on the rampage? Last thing she remembered was plowing into the ground after being sent off on one of Air Akane's package deals, courtesy of Mallet-sama. She looked down and absently noted she was in female form-Ranma's eyes narrowed; there was something subtly different about her body. Wha-?

"Hey!" Ranma ducked as a furry, clawed paw swiped the air where her head had been! "Hey!" She bounced up, and with a Ki assisted kick to the chest, she sent her attacker flying out into the dark somewhere. What was it? Ranma had caught a glimpse of a large, wide full mouth of fangs and teeth, fur, red mad eyes and claws. Beyond that . . .identification escaped her.

Screaming groups and individuals ran pass a stationary Ranma. She looked wildly around her, and decided it was past time to seek safer ground-Or in her case, altitude. Ranma leaped up onto a tree next to her, and from its branches, jump out and over the heads of the panic stricken, terrified mass of people below on the street, to the nearest rooftop. It was the roof of a two-storey house. She paused and glanced around her; Ranma noted the moving figures of other roof hoppers in the distance, as well as the flying figures of people and-And things? Fireballs, bursts of intense eye searing energies, or energy lances erupted from the figures, countered with equally withering firepower by unseen opponents somewhere below them. Fires, explosions, car and house alarms of all sorts joined Human screams and cries for help or salvation. Ranma cocked her head in puzzlement-The language most of the people were using was-English? She was fairly certain of it; even if she did sleep (Did having her Ki drained by an age shifting Ki vampire count as 'sleep'?) through too many of Miss Hinako's lessons, Ranma still recognized the language. The language was English, all right. So, what happened? Did she unknowingly pull a Hibiki?

Ranma instantly dismissed the idea she was experiencing a dream or hallucinating-Too real for that safe explanation: she had suffered through too many frightening mind twisting experiences (most due to Akane's toxic cooking) to be deceived outright by mental constructs.

The shock wave of a nearby explosion blew in windows, shook the house she was standing on, set off more alarms, and raised more desperate, terrified screams. Ranma gritted her teeth and decided she needed more information-Fast! She opened her mind and threw out her senses . . .And immediately reeled from the assault on her mind and soul generated by the foul energy surrounding her!

"Kami!" Ranma whispered, frightened and wide eyed. "Where am I?" A sneaking suspicion emerged . . .Was she dead? Was she in hell? If that was the case, then why did everyone speak English? A brief thought fluttered by-ma-maybe, that was part of the local hellish condition? Allowing her to be the only Japanese speaker in an English only environment? No, no . . .Ranma firmly and decisively dismissed that idea-She was not hallucinating, nor was she in Hell. The life she was currently condemned to, by her idiot Panda father, was worse then having a communications problem with the natives! The young martial artist was not at all certain what exactly was going on, or even how she got to wherever she was, but she did know one thing without question-There were innocent people being hurt and killed around her. And a martial artist's duty was to protect those-"Weaker then themselves," Ranma said outloud, grimly resolved.

She swallowed in a futile attempt to bring back some moisture to her dry mouth, and then she sent out her senses-Prepared, Ranma withstood the oily, slimy, clinging feel of the dark energy and cautiously began probing and sampling the dark waves. Parting them, strand by strand, until . . .Ah, Ranma grinned in satisfaction. The energy clinging to the bodies had to come from somewhere-And there it was! Long, solid energy lines connecting everyone (including herself) back to . . .Ranma channeled Ki down to her legs and leaped towards the origins of the chaotic energy-Abruptly, Ranma twisted and pivoted her body up in midair and narrowly avoided a short ribbon of yellow energy!

"Nyaaaah Nyaaaah! Missed meeee!" She stuck out her tongue and blew out a raspberry-"Thiiiippppphhhtt-!"

**_BONG!_**

And smashed into the hull of the one of the dozen or more battling aircraft darting through the air!

_Figures,_ Ranma thought exasperated, prying her face out of the indented, gray, metal,_ just figures . . ._

Inside the small flying craft Ranma collided with-

**BONG!**

"Aiyah! Kitchen Destroyer hit something!"

"Are you complaining about my driving, Shampoo?" Akane snarled, wrestling with the ship's controls, madly dodging obstacles, evading weapons fire, and savagely retaliating with the ship's own weapons. There was no real reason or explanation why the controls for an alien aircraft looked and responded like a familiar earthly video game console-Truthfully, Akane neither knew, or cared. Akane was a here and now kind of gal.

She was also Nerima born and bred. And one of Nerima's Rules Of Survival (8th edition. Published by Nabiki Press) stated simply-Just accept It. Whatever It happens to be. Even if _It_ is a gendershifting boy-Unless, _It_ happened to be a Pervert, Akane amended. And a strange foreigner grabbing her arm and spouting a foreign language at her certainly had to be a pervert!

Although . . .Akane admitted sheepishly to herself, feeling a little bit guilty, maybe she should have waited a little, and made certain he was a pervert like Nabiki suggested, before sending him flying with Mallet-sama.

"What Shampoo means, little sister, is that something hit _us_," said Nabiki soothingly, her head down, examining the small collection of paper and plastic in her hands. "With all the stuff flying around here that's not surprising." Nabiki contemplated the American currency in her hands, credit cards, a crumbled flyer from a business apologizing to its customers ('**Dear loyal Party Town Customers-We are sorry for the inconvenience, but we are temporarily close due to PCP gang activity. Thank you. For refunds and inquires-**'), and the two plastic ID cards-One of them, a driver's license, with a birth date placing the owner as a twenty-one year old, the other, a student ID, given the age at sixteen. Amused, Nabiki admired the realistic looking driver's license-High quality phony ID cards were one of the many products Nabiki Tendo dispensed as part of her services to the student population of Furinkan High.

Setting aside her admiration for a professionally well done forgery, Nabiki focused on what they meant: She and her sisters, and two . . .hmm . . ._associates_, had gone to bed and awoke in the bodies of strangers. American teenagers, sixteen years old each one of them, in a town named Sunnydale, in the state of California. A town being attacked by aliens-Nabiki glanced at the unconscious figure hog-tied and gagged by Shampoo's feet. Ridged forehead, glowing yellow eyes (when open and conscious) and a mouth (gagged with a torn off, bunched up, strip off its own shirt, and expertly tied into place by one of Kodachi Kono's ribbons) of sharp pointy teeth.

It had approached them while they where still staring at the disappearing dot of Air Akane's latest passenger. Grinned, showing off a mouthful of dangerous teeth, and made a comment-"Mmmm, what a yummy selection of buns and muffins!" Nabiki knew enough English to translate what it was talking about. But Akane just understood the tone and the hungry stare-Akane's battle aura flared up, Mallet-sama appeared in her hand (For the second time!), and the next moment saw a battered and unconscious, twitching alien, with Xs for eyes, on the slightly indented ground.

Now that, Nabiki thought coldly, the creature had earned!

Nabiki suggested they board and appropriate the alien's aircraft. She pointed out that that way they would have some shelter from the insanity they had been transported to, and possibly a ride back home to Japan. Akane immediately appropriated the pilot seat for herself and sent the aircraft lurching upward before anyone else could protest. What Nabiki kept silent about was her gleeful anticipation of all the money she was going to make when she sold the alien and it's aircraft.

"Ha! I see you, Pervert! Take this!" Akane shouted suddenly.

Nabiki jerked her head up, and saw through the front windshield, a bolt of green energy striking a white haired, leather coat wearing man, making his flesh go transparent. His bones lit up like a bright neon sign.

"Yes! Got him!" Akane grinned in satisfaction.

"Uh . . .little sister? Why did you fire on that man?"

"Because he was a pervert!" Akane answered in a 'Duh!' voice.

"Oh, and you know this because . . .?"

Akane snorted. "He was hiding in the bushes!"

"Ah." Nabiki decided to leave it at that. Arguing with her baby sister, when she was in a 'Smash Pervert' mood, never worked out.

"Oh, my!" A gentle voice exclaimed. "Does this look like a face to you?"

Nabiki turned to the oldest Tendo sister, Kasumi, and the indentation she was pointing to.

Huh, curiously, it did, sort of, look like a face-Caught sticking out its tongue, in fact . . .Nabiki cocked her head, puzzled; she narrowed her eyes . . .Now, why would that indentation remind her of Ranma?

A smoking, bloody, torn figure dropped on the roof of Ethane's costume shop.

The red headed girl straightened up from the partial stoop she had landed in, with an audible 'crack!' sound. Ranma's girl form grimaced in pain as she massaged the lower portion of her back with her fingers and palm. Ranma eyes darted to the roof ground before and around her, noted what was there, and was glad she had caught sight of the odd energies coming off the roof in time to divert her landing, and land beside the traps instead of on them. She then raised her eyes up to stare at the black painted, roof entry door leading down into the building. Absently, she patted at the small tongues of flame, dancing on her left hip, until only smoke tendrils remained. Gracefully and with great skill, Ranma wove her way through the traps laid out on the roof floor, until she stood to the side of the roof door.

Ranma considered the electronic deadbolt lock securing the roof door, and ran through her head what she knew of the lock. Surprisingly, there had been a few times Ranma had been grudgingly grateful for her father's teachings of the Anything Goes Lockpicking technique. Genma was better at teaching thievery then martial arts. She reached out with tools made out of Ki and Ironcloth technique-Working quickly and silently, Ranma reflected on the mage seemingly comfortable enough with modern technology to incorporate it with magic. Mostly to curse the mage to the deepest level of Hell available, but also to consider how that trait could cause trouble for her.

With a sudden wince, she stopped what she was doing; Ranma reached up, and into, the raggedy, scorched remains of her left sleeve, and pulled out a large, pulsating, greasy gray worm. The mouth end greedily devouring a bloody strip of her flesh. Ranma sent a pulse of Ki through the fingers holding the worm, and absently flicked away any ashy residue still clinging to her fingertips. She returned to concentrate on the door and it's protections-Both mundane and mystical.

On her way down, into the store, she disabled or avoided a dozen traps; on ominous quiet feet, Ranma stealthily glided behind a gray haired foreigner. Not that he likely would have noticed her, not with all the giggling and laughing he was doing-His eyes and attention was focused on the large, square hand mirror he was holding. Looking over his shoulder, Ranma could see the images of the ongoing mayhem and savage horror taking place in the town. Rage sprouted up in Ranma's belly and chest, as the sorcerer laughed outright at a small, possessed child clawing and biting a screaming, struggling woman held down by three other possessed children. She had no doubts about the lethal potential of the sorcerer she was stalking-Cologne, and other mages, Ranma had faced, had installed a healthy respect in the young martial artist for their Powers.

The energy threads Ranma had been following came from a weird looking white bust. Years previous to her encounter with Jusenkyo she would have just smashed the bust. But the cursed springs, and other magical experiences, had taught Ranma to deal with those things with strict caution.

She needed information-And there was only one person who could provide it.

Ethan never sensed the fist that laid him down on the floor. He raised up his pain tearing eyes at the tiny, red headed girl in the red Chinese shirt and black pants. He felt himself wither under her cold, uncompromising stare.

"Now, Magician-san," she said softly, in Japanese. "We'll have a talk."

That night, Ethan Raynes, life long dedicated troublemaker, was given one of the most professional beatings he would ever experienced in his life, by the fists and feet of one Ranma Saotome, currently in the body of Buffy Anne Summers, Slayer.

Somewhere, someplace the Greater Spirit of The Slayer looked on in approval-And was pleased.

Ranma Saotome picked up Janus's bust, oblivious to the small, bleeding cuts on her hands, and the smeared blood from the unconscious Chaos mage, Ethan Rayne, mixing with her own. Unnoticed, upon contact with the bust, the blood vanished. Ranma raised the bust up to ear level and flung it up against a wall, shattering it and releasing a flood of white energy!

Bedlam! It was utter _bedlam_, in what was suppose to be the quietest night of the year!

That was the first thought that Angel was struck with as he stood on the street, jerking his head from side to side, staring at the impossible sight of fictional and mythological characters rushing by, or engage in combat with someone or something equally impossible!

His sensitive ears picked up on the terror and pain and confusion in the screams, and moans, and the abruptly ended shrieks stabbing the air in every direction. Angelus stirred inside him and chuckled in dark appreciation at the scent of Human blood and all the things spilled out of a Human body upon injury or death. With clenched teeth, Angel quickly shoved down on the amused demon until it was a mere dark pinprick on the peripheral of his conscious. In retaliation, it sent up a small wave of hate and rage-Like a fast slap to the face. Angel barely acknowledged it.

Obviously dark magic was at work . . .Angel ducked as a spear flew where his head at been. The Slayer! Where was the Slayer? Where was Buffy?

Buffy! He had to find Buffy! She needed him! But where could she be? He remembered she had Halloween escort duty . . .Could she have returned to her house? Angel rushed away in the direction of Buffy's house, fending off the possessed and panic stricken Humans. Five blocks away Angel spotted Cordelia Chase and The Cordettes.

Cordelia had her long hair hidden under a pageboy cut blue tinted wig; she was dressed as a little girl, with a jumper style blue dress, over a white blouse with short puff-sleeves, wearing maryjane shoes with white socks. Harmony was wearing a black, rose embroidered leotard, expertly twirling a red gymnastic ribbon around her body-Incongruously, there were small piles of black rose petals at her feet. Aura was wearing a long, purple wig; she had on a close fitting Chinese pantsuit, and was holding a pair of bonboris like she knew how to use them. Aphrodesia was dressed as an Earth Mother figure, wearing a calf length dress, an apron over it, clutching a medical book, and projecting the calmest, gentlest aura Angel had ever seen. Gwen was dressed in a yellow kimono-The sharp, calculating look on her face caused chills to run up and down his spine.

Angel was about to pass them by, but he hesitated . . .He had a wild idea, coming in from some dark, insane space in his mind (he later suspected Angelus), to ask Cordelia if she had seen Buffy? Better get this over quick, then, he growled to himself, coming to a decision. Angel dashed forward, grabbed Cordelia's arm, and managed to say-"Cordelia! Have you seen Bu-?"

"Pervert!" Cordelia screamed in Japanese. Angel watched in frozen fascination as a _huge_ wooden mallet suddenly appeared in Cordelia's hand! It came up in an underhand swing, and the next thing Angel could consciously remember from that point were pretty white stars and colorful flares taking over his vision.

Whistling wind and cold air pressed in on his returning senses.

_Wha-? What? Where am I? What's happening?_ Angel opened his eyes and-and-and . . ._Is that the ground coming up?_

Angel later told himself (after returning back to consciousness for the second time) the trench he had made, upon impact with the desert ground, was really not that long or that deep at all. He kept telling himself that after climbing out of the trench. The Vampire With A Soul staggered around in a wobbly confused circle, before catching the glow of Sunnydale's lights against the horizon. Colorful flares burst briefly into life within its corona. Angel peered confused and dazed at the glow before his faced cleared up, and he executed a slight resolved nod. He tugged the ripped and tattered edges of his leather jacket against the scorched strips of his silk shirt, raising a small cloud of dust. With a lurching staggered walk, Angel headed back to Sunnydale.

A Vampire constitution was a wonderful thing. Angel had no complain about it; as some point during his trek back to Sunnydale, his lurching, zombish gait turned into a graceful speedy run.

He hit the edge of the town, and plowed straight towards Buffy's house. Determined not to be stopped by anything!

__

**CRASH!**

Unless it was a brick wall collapsing on top of him.

"Where the HELL am I now!"

In stunned disbelief, Angel felt feet march across his brick buried back, with his one unburied eye saw a dark haired teenage boy, wearing a yellow and black striped bandana, supporting a huge backpack with a red umbrella strapped to the top of it.

Angel heard the boy angrily mutter, "This is all Ranma's fault!" as he walked away.

For a long moment Angel remained buried under the rubble. "What the hell was that?" He murmured, stunned. A sudden 'click' sounded in his brain, and Angel remembered-"Buffy!"

With a tremendous heave, Angel exploded out of the rubble! He was covered in gray dust, and his clothing hung from him in tatters. But he was determined and-Angel's danger sense suddenly caused him to jerk his head up!

Cordelia's maniacally grinning face stared down at him from behind the windshield of an incoming gray, boxy aircraft.

"Erp!" He croaked before his world exploded into green light, then darkness-Again.

With a howling roar, an explosion of white energy burst through Ethan's Costume Shop! It swept up into the sky with a hurricane's howling force, and out throughout the town. Feathers, fur, skin and armor turned back into ordinary costumes as the explosive white light smashed through the afflicted town.

At that moment, shadowing the road, a boxy gray aircraft flew after its elusive prey. The small, purple Gi clad figure running full out in front of the aircraft cackling madly, while a huge cloth sack, carried over a shoulder, bounced with every dodging step as green beams of destructive light barely missed the small man.

The White Light caught the aircraft and a gray, bakery delivery truck suddenly slammed down five hard feet into the asphalt! Wheels popped off and bounced away, the body and undercarriage of the vehicle came into contact with the blacktop, creating gigantic flaming sparks as it skidded down the road, swerving, and coming to a crashing stop after hitting a light post; the driver and passengers within screaming throughout it all!

As Cordelia and the Cordettes abandoned their stolen ride in a fast run, they were each glad they had left the vampire they had confiscated the truck from, tied to the top of a flagpole.

No one took note of the plastic bag tucked under the seat, with the name 'Ethan's Costume Shop' on it. Or the partially used sheets of decals in it-Or the large, colorful decals attached to the dashboard creating a spaceship control console.

And they all lived happily ever after. The End-NOT!

I plan on writing just two chapters before stamping a "Complete" on this story. I'll _try_ to get the second, and last, chapter out before Halloween, but no promises!

Okay, a few things . . .

I decided to leave Xander as a Soldier. They're going to need his mystically gained knowledge and skills to deal with The Judge and The Mayor.

Willow still chooses to go as a ghost, finds Xander, but unable to find Buffy, they both end up running straight to the library, and Giles, instead of detouring to Buffy's house. And without Cordelia to provide the final clue that leads them to Ethan, Giles and the transformed Scoobies spend the time, until Janus's bust is broken, trying to find a solution in the books.

I did make Akane a bit more pervert obsessed then she ought to be-To her fans, sorry about that.

The little guy in the purple Gi? Happosai, of course! Ryoga Hibiki smashed through the wall that collapsed on Angel.

Anyway, I thank you for reading this story, this chapter. Bye-bye!


	2. Wakey!  Wakey!

****

Disclaimer: In no way, shape or form do I own anything here. _Buffy The Vampire Slayer_ belongs to Joss Whedon and his group. Rumiko Takahashi created, wrote and drew _Ranma 1/2_.

I did say I was going to continue this story. What took me by surprise was the length of it-I had planned to finish it with only two chapters, putting a big ol' The End on it after the second chapter. But Xander's particular Morning After took up so much of the second chapter that I had to extend the story to another chapter.

Mind you, this is still a Buffy story, not a Xander centric story, no matter how it seems like it.

Now, on with the story.

A case of foot-and-mouth by Xander goads Buffy into another costume choice.

The Mustang And The Slayer

The day was going to suck. And no one needed a Seer to see the truth of that-Least of all Xander Harris.

First, he woke up in his bedroom after hours of uncomfortable, nightmare filled sleep. All of the dreams in rich, vibrant colors; all the dreams depicting the service life of Soldier Harris-A guy sometimes serving in Africa, or South America. Some of the dreams showed Soldier Harris doing a tour of duty in Asia and in the Middle East. There were the brief, and sporadic, dreams of fighting in small American towns; what Xander found sincerely disturbing about those dreams were the quick glimpses of the enemies he was fighting-Either hordes of zombies or really disgusting, creepy looking aliens with big teeth.

With big, big, _big_ teeth . . .And _big_ honking ray guns! And, oh, boy, did they stink! Xander paused, uncertain . . .Stink? W-w-wwaaaait a minute . . .How can a dream be sinky? Xander considered suspiciously. The smell hit him then, and so did the wet feeling . . .Xander's eyes popped opened in immediate panic! His heart racing fast and hard in his ears. Did he do an unmentionable or two in his sl-?

The sudden light struck his unfocused eyes with pain and distracted him long enough for Xander to trace the true source of the odor and dampness. His panic ebbing away, he relaxed back into his bed . . .Oh, Xander blushed, greatly relieved, not scary fugly alien BO, but Xander BO! He squirmed around a little bit on the sweat-drenched sheets beneath him, wriggling his toes in his socks. Yeah, Xandman, its way past your wake up call, he chirped to himself, choosing to ignore his still too-fast beating heart, and applied mental cattle prods to himself until he got his reluctant body moving.

After rolling out of bed, he stood up in his tee shirt, banana print boxer shorts and socks, slowly reacquainting himself with every new ache, bruise and ouchie he had collected in the course of the past night's adventure. Just _stretching_ spanked his brain's pain center-Man, Xander could feel the contusions on top of the contusions! He took a step, winced at the throbbing pain coming in from his right shin, the black and blue-soon to be yellow-physical memory of the midget with the steel toed boots getting in a couple of good kicks before that damn spell was broken. Xander shuffled several feet away from his bed, absentmindedly kicking aside the combat boots and crumbled BTUs on the floor, his bladder needing immediate relief.

But wait! He froze in mid step . . .Xander had another wake up ritual to complete first-one he did before anything else! He quickly detoured to his nightstand and pushed it aside. Xander kneeled down and hooked his fingers into smoothed over deep gouges and pulled up a rectangular section of the floorboard. Xander placed the section on the floor next to him and reached down with one hand and arm into the dark space beneath the floor and pulled up a small rectangular chest. He eagerly undid the snap clasps and opened the top and stared down into the carefully packed hoard of Twinkie boxes.

Xander knew that if any of the Scooby gang had a chance to see him then-kneeling in front of a chest full of Twinkies, with his eyes and face shining with love and open hunger. Then seen the gentle, caressing, nearly sensuous touches he gave the boxes, Xander was certain they would have been deeply disturbed-For about two seconds before they returned back to the latest gossip and school rumor on Whatever!

Apparently, the latest couples match-up would have been a far more interesting topic then their Xander-shaped-friend's eccentric behavior. But then again, that entire lot, individually and as a group, radiated enough eccentric behavior to make him seem normal by comparison!

Reverently, the teenager pulled five boxes of Twinkies from the chest and placed them on the bed. He hesitated on the sixth box, but then shrugged-Xander rationalized he needed more comfort then usual. So, he picked up the sixth box and placed it with the others on the bed. After closing up the chest, Xander put it back down into it's hidey hole and replaced the floor section. He stood up and dragged back the nightstand to it's original place by his bed. Tenderly, Xander folded over a section of his bed sheets over the Twinkie boxes, hiding them from casual sight. A sharp pressure reminded Xander why he had to get up in the first place; squeezing his legs slightly together, Xander hurried out of his room.

Getting to the bathroom, Xander grimaced in disgust at the backed up toilet and the dark mess nearly overflowing the bowl. Xander stepped over the wet towels piled on the floor. He reached for the plunger beside the toilet, and slowly and carefully lowered it into the noisome liquid-_Dad must have taken the early shift at work_, Xander thought absently. The part of habitual drunkards not having a good sense of hygiene was one of life absolute truths. Xander absently noted the pink foam on the discarded toothbrush on the floor, and the misshapen tube of toothpaste planted in a mount of white toothpaste on a corner of the sink counter. Xander worked the plunger up and down trying to distract himself from the smell, sight and sound of the toilet's contents. He valiantly fought his rising nausea and his insistent bladder, wildly wondering if the clog remained for too long, if he was going to become desperate enough to use the sink?

Xander was saved from that choice by a noisome 'Glug!' and sucking sounds.

After the toilet was unplugged and cleaned up, and Xander poured out a long stream of relief into it, he continued mulling over his dreams. What was disturbing about the dreams, Xander considered, flushing the toilet and washing his hands, was that they were all about Alexander Lavelle Harris. And not some vague, generic Soldier Guy . . .But him, specifically, Alexander L. Harris. Xander spread out his arms, and grasped the edges of the sink counter, on either side of the sink, and leaned in, staring at himself in the mirror. He looked closely at the face with the faint scars, dry, cracked lips and the dark stubble coming in; Xander stared thoughtfully into his own dark eyes and wondered again if the World had been demon and vampire free, and Buffy had stayed in LA, what would he had become? Would he have enlisted . . .become a soldier?

Xander recalled the details-Going through basic training in practically all the armed service branches. Different camps, different drill sergeants, different people moaning in pain and regret in the barracks with him. Blisters on his toes and feet, being yelled at a lot. And that nearly overwhelming exhaustion! Those three things were identical-A constant, no matter the service branch he choose to enlist in.

And, of course, there was his first mission . . .His first . . .Suddenly, Xander's eyes widened in horror and the face in the mirror paled. Xander shook and gasped and huffed-without warning he shot out a violent stream of vomit directly into the sink!

His first . . .his first . . .Xander gasped . . .Ki-k-k-kill.

Xander, hunched heaving over the sink, recalled all those deaths, the first _Human_ life he ever took-Multiplying the _First_ over and over again. They were different faces; different shades of skin color, different eye shape and eye color; some with smooth faces, others had faces and skins layered with wrinkles and scars. Men, women, _children_! The last group Xander lingered over in anguish . . .Some were accidents, others deliberate-Child soldiers. Some sick, twisted _piece of garbage_ putting an AK-47 into their little hands and kicking them over to the front lines. Cannon fodder, no more or less, not soldiers, but kids given loaded guns-then ordered to point it at someone and shoot!

Someone, oh, say, like, Xander L. Harris; who then has no _goddamn_ _choice_ at all except to shoot back! His bitter, angry thoughts shouting out inside his thoroughly screwed up and crowded head.

Xander's body shook like Tony Harris coming out of one of his Christmas benders. He felt his stomach muscles twist and heave-expelling what was left, down into the sink basin, splattering into the liquid mess already in there.

He waited patiently until the spasms eased; Xander hawked and spat into the multicolored puddle, ignoring the floating, semi-liquefied lumps in it. Slowly turning the cold water faucet handle, Xander watched the pressurized stream of water shoot out of the spigot, his cupped hands intercepting it, and brought the cold liquid up to his open mouth. Xander rinsed his mouth, trying to wash away the burning acid lodged down his throat and the back of his tongue. He splashed several handfuls of water on his face and ended up pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.

Finally, Xander removed his hands and looked at his image in the mirror again. Rivulets of water ran down his face and chin, dripping into the collar and front of his tee shirt. His dark hair, heavy with water, stuck to his head; his eyes, vivid and stark, stared out of a face that was several shades too pale for the Southern California teenager.

Xander swallowed a couple of times, trying to sooth his acid burned throat. His sinuses remained host to the odor of vomit.

"Soldier," he whispered bitterly to his mirror image. "Had to go as a soldier . . .The Two Dollar Costume King . . .Impress Wils, impress Buffy . . .Wait . . .Buffy . . .Buffy went as Ranma . . ."

The eyes of his image widened until they were almost round, and his pallor darkened several shades. If he had soldier memories-Did, did that mean Buffy had Ranma's memories?

A slow smile spread on Xander's cracked lips . . .

With a high cackling laugh, Xander ran out of the bathroom, leaving the water running into the sink, his sock padded feet stomping on the bare floor.

First, he had to get his shower and grooming things and clean himself up, then head out to the library-Buffy's after action telephone call set up a Scooby meeting. Okay, did that mean what he suddenly thought it meant? Yeah, that would be . . .oh, wow! This, Xander firmly vowed to himself, was one Scooby meeting he was not missing!

Ah, yeah . . .Not a Xander centric story. But this chapter is just for him.

Okay, this chapter is it for a while. I do plan to continue it, but it will take time to put out the next chapter. So, good-bye and thank for reading this story!


	3. Chapter 3

****

Disclaimer: I own **NOTHING** here. All characters and material related to _Buffy The Vampire Slayer_ belong to Joss Whedon and his group. _Ranma 1/2_ is the creation of Rumiko Takahashi.

This is a Halloween fic. In case I missed anyone-**If you recognize it, then I don't own it!**

The third chapter is heeeere! (Duh!) : )

Okay, for those readers who found the last chapter too graphic, too descriptive, my apologies. But a little reminder, Xander is a guy who is not only facing ugly things outside his home, but inside it as well. Xander's parents are drunks. And drunks are messy!

As for Xander's sudden, inappropriate, shift in mood towards the end-Ah, yeah . . .Something else I've got to apologize for. But I was already getting tired of it, and I just wanted to wrap up the chapter and move on. I know I left a gaping hole in that section, but honestly, I can't promise I'll go back and fix it. Sorry.

Here's the third chapter for _The Mustang And The Slayer_. I hope you enjoy it.

Joyce joins the Halloween fun!

The Mustang And The Slayer

Cologne Matriarch of the Chinese Amazons observed the street before her from a perspective she had lost a few hundred years before the present. The Elder, haven gotten used to being slightly above two feet tall, watched in bemused contemplation, the frantic and panicked bodies of people hurling themselves up and down the street, attempting to escape or avoid the hoards of miniature monsters and demons swarming, and rampaging among them.

The Elder looped to her earlier musings, and reexamined the 'taste' of the magic engulfing the street and general area-Chaos magic. Cologne readily identified the type of magic: one of her husbands had been a Chaos mage. Alas, a tragic drowning in one of Jusenkyo's virgin pools had ended a promising and interesting marriage . . .

A sudden loud _Bang!_ and Cologne's thoughts returned to the present with a jerk. She twisted her head slightly, keeping the street and moving bodies in sight, to peer beyond the glass front doors. Cologne judged the people behind her, inside the art gallery she had suddenly found herself in (within a younger, and blessedly taller body).

The people at work securing the gallery seemed possessed by _mostly_ historical figures, most from the artistic branches. But a few were from fantasy and science fiction genre as well. To Cologne's experienced eye, they were quite creative in fortifying the building-But what else could be expected from _those_ people? Little doubt existed within Cologne's mind that the possessed men and women working so diligently were capable of holding, and defending, the gallery and everyone and everything within its walls.

"Cologne?" A male voice called out in French.

A short, slightly pudgy man leaned out of the opened glass door. He turned concerned eyes towards the Amazon Elder. "My love," he said. "We are about to seal ourselves within . . .Will you not change your mind and join us in our makeshift island of relative, and dubious, sanity and safety?" He suddenly smirked, his eyes twinkling, and added suggestively. "Or best yet-Create our own island nation of just two, in some private corner? Hmmm?"

Cologne chuckled, and with a slight apologetic smile on her borrowed face, said lightly. "My dearest Eugene, I have made my choice . . .I will follow my own council and discover the source of tonight's mischief-And deal justice as my own kind and kin would. Farewell. Please be safe."

Eugene sighed deeply and tragically, a mischievous glint in his eye and a small smile on his lips, and nodded his good bye. He stepped back and closed the glass door. A moment later, the rolling steel gate came down, cutting off the view of the well-lit interior of the gallery-And Eugene.

The Amazon elder stood staring wistfully for a moment at the gray steel folding gate, contemplating past years, and the time, that she, as a wilder, younger woman, had traveled through the World-And the intense, brief love affair she had had with the French artist, Eugene Delacroix.

Her mind came back to the present, as a golden glow suddenly spread outwards from the building. Screeches and curses from the building roof and points around it erupted from creatures ejected from the surface of the suddenly Warded gallery.

Satisfied with what she saw, Cologne stepped down the five gallery steps to the street, the staff she held loosely in her hand, thumping on the brick steps and concrete pavement with her steps; she swept the area with a deeper, finer probe of her senses. Cologne did not collapse in shock, as she nearly had when she had originally 'awaken' within her borrowed body. The unexpected, polluted energies pouring out from the nearby Hellmouth had rammed and clawed against her weakened spiritual and mental shields until she quickly and desperately strengthen them.

At first, Cologne was convinced what assaulted her soul and mind could not be. The last remaining Hellmouth, in her home dimension had been closed by the time Cologne had achieved her first menses. All the proof Cologne needed to halt her dangerous mental rants of denial, and come to the uneasy realization she was no longer in either her home dimension, or her own body!

Worse yet, once the Amazon Elder filtered out the other distractions, she could hear the World screaming.

Standing out on the street of the American town, a brochure within the gallery claimed was called Sunnydale, Cologne's senses told her she was not the only one from Nerima to be cast into the screaming, dark World. The Amazon elder sensed the Blind Duck somewhere nearby; her granddaughter, Shampoo, was keeping company with the Tendo sisters, the Okonomiyaki cook, and that insane Kono girl. But her Ki signature was jittering and dodging about in a puzzling, and exceptionally, unfamiliar way.

That had her concerned, until-

A sudden roaring wind tugged at the Matriarch's hair and clothing-Cologne looked up and grimaced at the disappearing afterburners of some kind of aircraft. Sudden insight struck her. Of course . . .Cologne muttered to herself in annoyance. Her granddaughter and the other girls had to be in one of the aircrafts currently in the sky! She sighed, resigned, fretting about it was unproductive . . . She would just have to wait until the girls came down on their own.

In the meantime-

_"Aaaaarrrggghhh! Get'emoff!Get'emoff!Get'emoff!"_ A red and black figure, with blurred, windmilling arms engulfed by a vicious flock of divebombing flying books, interrupted her thoughts as it jumped, screaming, off the roof of a nearby building, ran across the street and bound upwards back onto the rooftops!

"Son-in-law?" Cologne questioned, blinking. Ranma-it had to be that unpredictable young man. Who else would run away screaming from books? Besides, his Ki signature was unmistakable-A gigantic, roaring, swirling mass of power so similar to his signature move of Hiryo Shoten Ha.

Cologne sighed, then smirked in amusement. At least, Son-in-law was running in the right direction. She prepared herself to hope onto the nearby roof and follow Ranma, when the ground shook under her feet! A fresh, immediate chorus of screams erupted from up the street, causing Cologne to look up and catch sight of dozens of fleeing people emerging from a side street. The ground shook again!

Behind the running people, a terrible form came into Cologne's view . . .It was fully twelve feet tall, a fur garment, with a single strap, covered the torso and upper thighs. Until it turned around and graced the matriarch with frontal view-It had only on eye! A Cyclops!

The sudden explosion of feet, running _towards_ the giant Cyclops, caused Cologne to pause-Robust, muscular young men dressed in white kimono tops and black hamka, stopped in eerie tandem in front of her, simultaneously raised wooden bokkens, and announced in stereo, "Halt, Villain! I, the Blue Thunder of Furinkan High," _thunder clapped_, "challenge yon cowardly beast! Have at thee!"

Cologne blinked, and blinked again. An entire kendo club she could understand being ensnared in the night's mischief, but a Tatewaki Kono club . . .? Really?

With a roar of "I strike! I strike!" the Konos surged forward! The Cyclops answered with his own roar-And a moment later, black and white missiles came hurling passed the exasperated Matriarch. At her feet slid, thumped, one of the missiles-Hazy, confused blue eyes stared up at her, and slurred, "I stri . . .ke . . ." his eyelids dropping in unconsciousness.

Overhead, a loud, "Quacked!" rendition of Wagner's _Cry of the Valkyries_ heralded Mousse's air assault! Cologne watched for a moment the diving, darting white form of the Blind Duck avoiding the swatting hand and club of the single eyed monster, and with an impatient sigh, came to a decision-Ranma could deal with the Chaos mage by himself. Son-in-law was more then capable of handling a single Chaos stirrer!

With a savage grin on her hostess' face, Cologne gathered her Ki and tightly griped her staff and launched herself into combat!

The wave of Chaos energy swept through Sunnydale for a second time that night, restoring what the first wave had altered. A tall, woman in a white back swept wig, wearing a green robe, with a quartered white circle on her chest, held a slightly batter and chewed staff in her hands. Her robe had been torn and darkened with soot and wet splatters of organic substances. Her face and wig showed equal abuse. She stared in intense concentration at the closed doorway of Ethan's Costume shop.

The door opened and a large, full laundry bag flew out and landed with a muffled 'thump' on the pavement. Following closely behind it, from the still opened doorway, out stepped Buffy Summers, still wearing on her head the remains of a slightly askew, burned, smoking, rat's nest, mess of a red pigtail wig. Buffy hauled another large bulging laundry sack over her slim shoulder. The small figure walked over to the bag on the ground, bend down, grasped it, and swung it up to her other free shoulder, straightened up and took several steps before noticing Joyce. She froze in mid-step and stared hard at her mother. She slowly put her foot down, recognition working through her face and she smirked.

Buffy walked towards her mother and stopped a bare foot away. "The Old Goul', right?"

Joyce Summers resisted the strong urge to rap her insolent child on the head, with the end of her staff. "If you mean Elder Cologne? Yes." An urge Joyce immediately discarded. She took a closer look at her daughter-A tattered, raggedy, bloody figure, but with a cocky smile on her face and confidence oozing out of every surface of her small, slim body. Joyce noted with a guilty start that removing the grime of running combat, Buffy closely resembled the confident, cocky young teenager she had been, prior to-to the mental institution.

Joyce gingerly poked a mental finger at the 'gift' Elder Cologne had left for her, when the other woman had retreated from her body. The revelation of living on a Hellmouth was terrifying enough, but the suspicion her new knowledge gave her on what her daughter could be, was giving Joyce the idea of grabbing Buffy, shoving her into the car and speeding away, abandoning everything they owned and starting over again somewhere safe.

_Safe?_ Her own internal voice mocked. No place was safe! Joyce wanted to break out in hysterics. A hard truth to take in . . .Worse came the stunning realization that the Bastards-That-Be had set up her child to churn up and cause Chaos. Guaranteeing Buffy would never be able to find safety or peace-Anywhere!

Joyce looked down into her daughter's green eyes, and made silent promises-And, Joyce recalled with another guilty surge, apologies.

Buffy gave her mother a confused look, the message _'You're starting to wig me out, mom'_ visibly present; Buffy shook her head, causing the wig to wobble and slid slowly down the side of her face. "Uh, mom? We really have to get out of here-The ambulance I called will be here soon." Buffy shrugged, indifferently, a hint of malice in her eyes. "At least Ethan Raynes hopes it's soon."

Before Cologne's possession, Joyce would have been shocked over her daughter's callousness-But not after witnessing the lethal and traumatic consequences to the Chaos mage 'fun'. Joyce quietly wished the man excruciating pain and a long, long recovery.

Joyce smiled at Buffy. "Let's go home, Sweetheart. You can call up Willow and Xander, and make sure they're alright."

They walked away from Ethan's store, the sirens in the distance getting closer. Joyce eyed the laundry bags. She gestured to them. "Did you get everything?"

"Everything I could see-Books, supplies . . .Ethan could have stashed a few goodies somewhere out of sight." Buffy considered thoughtfully. "I'll come back and check more thoroughly later."

Joyce nodded in approval. "I'll come with you."

Buffy nodded in agreement. A thoughtful look crossed her face. "Mom . . .You know you're concealing your Ki signature, right?"

Joyce sighed. "Yes, dear. Buffy, there are things we have to talk about-And-and not just about tonight, or any souvenirs we may have acquired."

The sudden, familiar sound of a lawn sprinkler silenced and froze the two Summers.

Wide-eyed shock radiated from Joyce's eyes. Buffy experienced a familiar tingling that should not have _existed_. Not only did the ground seemed to have inched higher-But her groin was undergoing discomfort that only _Ranma_ experienced after shifting back to his male form-While still wearing panties!

"I think we better call in everyone we can, not just Willow and Xander." Buffy said, in a deeper voice.

Joyce numbly nodded.

Buffy wanted to either sigh in resignation, or scream in blind panic. Regardless-Life on the Hellmouth had just gotten weirder.

(_Sigh_) Maybe not as funny as I (or my readers) wanted it to be. But I hope it had some good moments, and that it entertained you.

Thanks for reading it. And good bye!


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